


Deathbed

by abluecanarylite



Category: Rule of Rose
Genre: Gen, References to Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-13
Updated: 2012-09-13
Packaged: 2017-11-14 03:29:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/510848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abluecanarylite/pseuds/abluecanarylite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rule of Rose AU. Jennifer remembers the day Gregory died.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deathbed

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really know where this one came from, but it just felt right when I wrote it.

Jennifer remembers the day Gregory died clearer than anything that had ever happened to her before. It was late in the afternoon, almost time for tea and a supper of whatever she could fill a plate with. She had been cleaning all day in hopes of easing out the black cloud of a thirties depression that sucked the life out of the country, and worst of all, the town that was their livelihood – out of their home at least for a while. Just until her foster father could leave for the field again.

She was now almost a visibly sixteen, after four years of living with Gregory, Daddy. Despite his paranoia, he let her wander the house while he was gone after she had made him feel guilty for not trusting her. She moved around the house in her usual silence, talking only when Brown, her dog, barked at her to pay attention to him. He had been a gift from Greg, who had found him in an abandoned shed down the road, and given to her to keep her company during the day. It was better than waiting for him to come home, or even watching him stare at her, as though trying to work through the guilt of knowing she wasn’t a boy – wasn’t his Joshua.

If it weren’t for Brown keeping her company, she had a feeling her foster father would do something drastic to keep her from leaving him. Locking her up was one thing, but he said things, about the children he saw in town, which made her glad she wasn’t really Joshua. She couldn’t bear to understand how the boy would feel if he knew what insanity his sickness and his death had created.

That day, the day he came home and paused in the doorway as she swept the kitchen, will haunt her forever. Yet, it was almost a pleasant moment. As though she had given him some sort of peace.

The last bit of sun was shining through the window and the dress she wore to clean was glowing in it. Either she had forgotten the time or he had come home early to see her – see his Joshua. Whatever had happened, Jennifer knew the dress had caused it all. Like seeing a stranger in one’s house, she saw his face light up with anger before he realized his Joshua was there, glowing, more alive than ever before. Womanhood had hit her early and so her boyish looks were all but gone. Joshua had died many years ago, and in its place, she saw in his eyes, was the truth he had found in just a regular sunbeam.

Opening her mouth to apologize, she remembers him telling her to be quiet. Not in a harsh way, like the times he drank too much and turned into the angry, grieving man he should have been – yelling at her to stop pretending until he snapped back into place. He was studying her, possibly trying to lie to himself again – or, she hopped, realizing he had done the right thing by saving her.

Whatever he thought, after that moment, Jennifer never saw him alive again. He had slipped out of the kitchen, telling her he was going to wash up – but his food had gone cold by the time she realized he wasn’t coming back – and the bang she heard wasn’t the sound of the bus coming by. With Brown safely tucked away in the living room, she wandered the yard until she found Joshua’s grave. Despite their pretending, the truth was right outside their door. All Gregory had to do was except the fact that his son had died and there he laid, buried – in all his truth. It was almost fitting perhaps, that beside his son’s mound, lie his own. Dug out fast, a hole big enough for Gregory lay open, her foster father curled up in it like a cold child. His pistol lay beside his head, fingers holding it in a death grip, his blue eyes staring straight at his son’s resting place.

She didn’t cry. Even after night settled and the cold winter breeze began to chill her, Jennifer stood watch over their graves until she finished the job of burying Gregory. It was the least she could do for saving her – caring for her, despite the truth staring him in the face.

In the morning, when the girls came by, she did not go with them. Instead, they stayed with her all they liked.


End file.
